


In sinu viperam habere

by turianosauruswrex



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Gen, General tragedy, Poor Life Choices, Pre-Canon, you coulda done good jules! you coulda done good!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 17:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turianosauruswrex/pseuds/turianosauruswrex
Summary: Before she was Courier Six, Jules McAllister owed her life to the Followers of the Apocalypse. Not that she remembers them.





	In sinu viperam habere

When Jules was eighteen her mother started getting headaches. Bad ones, so bad Eliza was crippled until they passed. And she'd trail off in the middle of a sentence, like she forgot what she was saying or that she was even in a conversation. By the time capable doctors came through Nipton and were able to diagnose the source of the problem-- a tumor, massive, sitting smug on her brain-- it was too late to do anything but make her comfortable. Eliza died just before her daughter's nineteenth birthday and for the first time in her life Jules was alone.

She couldn’t _stand_ it.

Late the night Eliza was buried Jules returned alone to their house on the edge of town, watching the crashed satellite at the Mojave Drive-In from the roof of their house as it whirred and blinked away in the darkness. In her mind’s eye she was still standing by her mother’s fresh grave with no one but those who dug it at her side, waiting for her to leave so they could fill it in. Not one person, not the other schoolteachers who’d worked with Eliza, not one of Jules’ classmates, no one they’d known at all had shown up-- shouldn’t have been surprising with how scarce they’d made themselves over Eliza’s sickness: Samantha marrying and leaving town, Harker joining the army, Irene and Beth and all the others just-- disappeared.

Days later Jules handed over caps for her first of countless inhalers of jet, just to forget for a little while, block out her anguish. Same thing the next day, and the next, and the next, until she'd run out of caps but couldn't go without a fix and the dealer said well, he couldn't just let her have it, but she was such a pretty thing, perhaps...they could work out another form of payment.

That's how she finds herself three years later, wearing next to nothing on a street corner, high as tits and it's only midnight. The other girls’ voices are distant, soldiers muffled behind their face wraps-- they all wear face wraps when they come to Nipton-- the town jittery and out of focus through the haze of whatever chems she's on tonight. The mayor's hand strokes up and down her body, fingers brushing against the pale scar across her stomach-- that's healed up nicely, he says, even though it's been years since she got it so of course it's healed _of course it's healed you fucking scumbag don't_ **_FUCKING touch_ ** _me._ See her later tonight, he adds before one last pat on her hip as he saunters off.

This is hell, she's decided. Her own personal hell, and the kicker is _she_ put herself here, but what else could she have _done?_ She has to survive somehow, doesn't she?

A soldier, a young private barely older than her, had left his pistol behind a few nights before and as she'd been dressing it had been so tempting, almost seductive; firing a gun couldn't be that hard, especially not when hitting a target at such close range, a squeeze of the trigger and it'd be over. No more soldiers, no more mayors, no dealers, caravaners side-eyeing her, quack preachers telling her just how many deadly sins she was embodying at any given moment.

The private had come back, embarrassed, before she could do anything but the thought hasn't left her yet.

A bright white spot clears in her vision and a few blinks bring it into focus: four or five people, all in white coats with an encircled cross embroidered on the shoulders. That symbol, she knows it, she's seen it before-- they're-- they're Fellows, the Fellowship, the, the, the Followers! Followers of the Apocalypse! Doctors, right, hadn't they been there before with her mother?! They're a way out-- _a way out!_

Jules darts forward and seizes the arm of the one closest to her as they walk past; he's blonde, with glasses, and at least a foot taller than her, stopped and looking down at her first with surprise, then almost dismissively. “Listen, I don't--”

“You have to help me,” she rasps, locking eyes with him. “Please. I don't want to die here.”

The disdain shifts to pity as he takes in the sight of her: tiny and shaking, scarred by knife and needle with bloodshot eyes and a grip strengthened by desperation. “Emily,” he says, finally, “do we have any Fixer?”

A small red-headed woman with big round glasses steps forward and lets out a soft _oh no_ when she gets a look at Jules. She tries to put an arm around her shoulders for support but Jules jerks away, clinging tighter to the man.

“I don't want to just give her Fixer and leave her here,” the woman-- Emily-- says. “Why don't we take her back to Primm? I know a couple there with a spare room so we don't have to bother with that hotel.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“The rest of you go on ahead. We'll meet you in Freeside.” Emily flanks Jules on her other side, attempting to block her from view as they head north out of town.

“You, uh, you got quite a grip there,” the man says, but it barely registers with Jules, her eyes wide and darting, breath coming short and panicked. He tries again to get her attention. “What's your name?”

“I-- I'm Julia.” No, not Julia anymore, it's tainted, bittersweet memories of her mother under more recent sour ones. “Jules. I'm Jules.” Always liked that better anyway.

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Jules. I'm Arcade, and that's Emily. You're gonna be okay.”

Jules nods but her grip doesn't loosen.

“You mind easing up on that? I’d like to keep my hand, thanks. Don't want to give Emily an amputee to deal with too.”

The short walk out of town takes an eternity. Emily's shielding her but Jules can still feel the eyes, hostile stares boring into her, intoxicated customers watching and no doubt wondering where they're going and why they're going there so quickly. She prays the mayor isn't there, that he's too preoccupied with what- or _who_ ever to come looking for her yet. Only when she can no longer hear the chatter on the streets, the crackling of fires lit to keep warm does she breathe again.

By the time they reach Primm Jules’ chem haze is lifting only to be replaced by the crash that follows the highs, and she crashes _hard_. She can barely make out the couple whose home Emily lets herself into, can't comprehend the explanation given for their sudden arrival and her desperate appearance. Words hit her ears without meaning. Emily and Arcade have to carry her up the stairs and prop her up on the bed; the instant Emily locks the door behind them Jules bursts into tears, sobs wracking her frame.

“Th-thank you, I-- thank you s-so much, I don't know-- what I would've done-- you don't know how bad it is-- thank you, thank you, _thank_ you--”

Emily takes her hand, rubbing small circles on the back with her thumb. “It's okay, Jules, you're safe. We're here.” She fishes a syringe out of her coat pocket and hands it off to Arcade. “I'm going to find some clothes for her. I should be back before she needs the second dose.”

He nods, tapping the syringe. “Let me see your arm, Jules.” She shies away from his outstretched hand, eyes locked on the needle. “It's Fixer. We're gonna get you cleaned up.”

Jules slowly meets his gaze and nods, turning away again as the needle pierces her skin. Almost immediately, she can feel the Fixer taking hold in her system, her shakes lessening, heart calming. Her breath still hitches on tears but she can focus now as Arcade continues.

“Hey, stay with me, alright? You probably wanna just sleep this off but I need you to stay awake. At least until Emily gets back.”

Jules nods again. “You don't-- you don't know how much you've done for me-- I would've died, I _almost_ died, so many times, I-- if you hadn't come through tonight I don't know...” Hysterics consume her words again, sending her into another round of rattling sobs.

“Hey, hey, it's okay.” Arcade pulls a chair up beside the bed and sits facing her. “We're doctors. Helping people is kind of our job description.” He reaches out to pat her hand but she jerks away, drawing into herself.

Looking up at him now with fresh eyes clear of the worst of the chem haze Jules realizes just how much _bigger_ than her he is, how easy it'd be for him to overpower her, haul her back to Nipton, get a reward from Steyn for bringing back one of _his_ girls. She's seen it happen before to other women in town-- how could she have been so foolish?! Depending on a strange man to save her?! Even strung out as she was she should have been _smart enough_ not to rely on him-- her stomach churns at the thought.

“What were you doing in Nipton,” she mumbles, starting to scratch at her forearms.

“Passing through. We were on our way to Freeside, up near the Strip. It’s a longer route but safer overall. Figured if we had to risk life and limb we stood a better chance against gangs and ruffians than, you know. Deathclaws.”

“You're not...you're not gonna take me back there, are you? The mayor would _kill_ me.” A chill runs down her spine and she's suddenly cognizant of just how little she's wearing. She wriggles under the quilt and bedsheets, eyes still locked on Arcade, waiting.

“Of course not!” His face is aghast, tone appalled at the very suggestion. “What kind of doctors-- what kind of _people_ do you think we are? I know we just met but give us a _little_ credit.”

Still wary, she nods, shivering despite the blankets, or maybe it's withdrawal shakes; she doesn't quite know anymore. Her stomach’s twisting itself in knots, has been since they started towards Primm, the meal she'd had that afternoon churning and threatening a reappearance. The drugs aren't fogging her mind as much anymore but her thoughts lag as her eyelids drift downward-- jolt back up, and drift down again...

Next thing she knows Arcade's shaking her awake-- gently but GOD her skin BURNS; the touch of his hand sets her entire body screaming, so raw a nerve even the sheets are too much as she kicks them off, squirms away from him with a yelp.

“Sorry-- sorry!” He holds up his hands as she hugs her knees to her chest, still shaking. “I know you're miserable right now--”

“You can-- _fucking_ say that again.”

“I know you're miserable right now,” he repeats, “but I swear, this is the worst of it.” He unscrews the top off a bottle of water and offers her a drink. “If it makes you feel better, you're not the first addict to go through this and I can guarantee you won't be the last-- probably not even the first or last in the Nashes’ house, knowing Emily.” He smiles as she takes the bottle from his hand and sips at it cautiously. “You just have to ride it out. It'll pass.”

When Jules was...about six, the flu swept through Nipton; everyone from the mayor down to the youngest child came down with it, and the McAllister house was no exception. Eliza and her daughter were both miserable but for Jules it lingered, days after her classmates were making their tentative ways back to school. She could barely keep any food down, reduced to a slim diet of broth and plain bread at best that almost without fail found its way back up from her stomach.

At least back then she wasn't barely conscious, clinging to the toilet in a stranger's house. At least back then it was through no fault of her own.

“It's okay, Jules,” comes a soft voice, muffled but soothing. “You're okay-- here, try this.”

A cool, wet cloth rests on the back of her neck and Jules turns, bleary-eyed, to look up at who placed it there-- a familiar figure, long, dark hair swept over her shoulder as she watches, kneeling beside her.

“Mom...?”

“Afraid not. Last I checked I'm still Arcade.”

Jules frowns and blinks, and as her vision clears the ghost is gone, Arcade now sitting beside her in Eliza's stead. “What...how'd I get here?”

“Well, first you saw us in Nipton, then you latched onto my arm like a ravenous nightstalker--”

“No, no...I remember that part, what--” A fit of coughs cuts her question short and she spits out more bile. “You just woke me up, I think. I _thought_.”

“I did, but that was a little while ago. Emily came back, gave you a second dose of Fixer. She's out there sleeping right now-- I think we all dozed off at some point but I woke up a few minutes ago to see you bolt in here so I came to check on you. Feeling any better?”

“What do _you_ think.”

“Something along those lines.”

Jules pulls herself up and tugs the toilet’s handle down before leaning back against the wall behind her, bloodshot eyes still locked on Arcade. “Why are you... _here?_ ”

“I'm sorry?”

“Why are you here? The fucking NCR didn't give two shits about us my entire life; why'd they send people now?”

“Oh, we're not--” Arcade chuckles a little. “We're from California but the Followers don't answer to the NCR any more than I'm assuming _you_ would.”

“I wouldn't-- I _don't._ ”

“Exactly. The NCR isn't our best friend, but we're not trying to kill each other either.”

Jules snorts. “You should. They're fucking...I can't tell you how many times we _begged_ them for help. How many soldiers I sucked off for free just so they'd tell someone how bad things were...I don't know if they actually told anybody and it was ignored or if they just didn't keep their end of the deal.” She rubs a hand across her forehead. “I don't know which would be worse.”

“A fascist paramilitary organization, for one. An army of slavers, for another. Definitely both worse.”

“Huh?”

“What, you don't have those out here?”

Is it the drugs or is he genuinely spouting _nonsense_ at her? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Caesar’s Legion?” Arcade shakes his head. “How have you not heard about them?”

Jules shrugs.

“They fought the NCR at Hoover Dam in ‘77. Almost won, too.”

Shame they hadn't. “No, I don't...I don't know anything about them. Hasn't really been top priority.”

“Well, hopefully it can stay that way. From what I understand they read a history book once and think it makes them better than the rest of us. Unfortunately for them, I  _also_ read books.”

Jules lets out a short giggle and shifts sideways, a little closer to him as she tucks her feet under her. “That what you're heading east for? To educate those guys, keep them off Hoover Dam?”

“You think the Legion would stop pillaging long enough to listen to a history lesson? You're hilarious.” Arcade shakes his head. “No, I'm going to help the Followers at the Mormon Fort; they're researching different treatments for various ailments so we're not burning through stimpaks every time someone gets a paper cut.”

“Oh.” She scratches her forearm again. “Then...why are you here.”

“To--”

“No, why are you _here_. In...wherever the fuck we are, why are you _still_ here instead of-- of leaving like you’re supposed to--” Her voice starts to waver and she presses a hand to her forehead again, fighting to steady her breath. People leave, that’s just what happens; either they die or, or there’s just something about _her_ that makes it impossible for anyone to stay, from childhood friendships abruptly ended when she needed one most to empty promises of escape that she was desperate and _stupid_ enough to believe. “Why are you here-- with _me_ \-- I’m not-- there’s probably people in Freeside who need your help more than--”

“Jules, listen to me.” Arcade leans forward, locking eyes with her. “Are other people worse off than you? Well, you're still alive, you have all your limbs, that sort of thing, so-- yes, technically. But it doesn't mean you deserve help less than they do.”

“I _don't_ deser--”

“If we only helped those who deserved it I'd be out of a job. Hell, I probably would've never gotten this job in the first place.” He sighs and balls his fists. “Look. I know all about how difficult it is to move on from a rough past. I'm not gonna go into detail, but...” He trails off, working out how to phrase his next statements. “Living in the NCR wasn't exactly a walk in the park with my family history. You have to do it, though-- you have to move on and you can't let what's past hold you back, especially not when it's out of your control.”

Does he think her situation was out of her _control?_ He's not an idiot; Jules brought it on herself and it should be _obvious._ “I'm not...” No, no, not worth arguing. Not with this splitting headache, not barely upright as she is. “Never mind.”

“I could lie to you, say it’ll be smooth from here on out if you want me to.” Arcade shoots her a small grin. “I don’t you do, though. But...the more you do it, the easier it gets, yeah?” He stands and offers her his hand. “You with me?

“...Yeah.” She takes his hand, fighting off her upset stomach as they re-enter the room. Emily's just waking up in the chair beside the bed, stretching and cracking her neck. “How’s she doing, Arcade?”

“Well, in my expert medical opinion, I'd say she's not dying at the moment.”

Jules shakes her head no as she settles back on the bed. “Not currently.”

“That's always good.” Emily puts a blanket around her shoulders and sits beside her. “You’re through the worst part now. Do you have any family? Anyone we can contact for you, help you get to?”

Jules starts to shake her head no but pauses. Her mother had talked about family-- parents and siblings in New Reno, someone _else_ in Reno too, much too dangerous to keep in contact with (apparently) but he could be her lifeline. New Reno’s a mystery to her but how dangerous could he possibly be, to have been involved with the McAllisters, good wholesome farmer types, the kind who avoided trouble best they could? Well, except their middle child. But even still as long as Jules could remember her mother was cautious, level-headed; one teenage mistake didn't mean change was impossible. And besides, no matter who he is he can't possibly be worse than Steyn, and Jules survived years of _him_.

She entertains the image a while longer: strolling down the streets of New Reno with Emily and Arcade, knocking on some farmhouse door on the edge of town-- she doesn't know what the man behind it looks like anymore; she stopped wondering that years ago, but her rendering of him changed so much over the years. Tall, boisterous and strong when she was little, enough to pick her up and carry her on his shoulders, spin her in frenzied circles in the yard while her mother watched, laughing. Later, a gentle giant who'd comfort her when she was picked on at school or when her first crush rejected her; later still he was clever and sharply dressed, putting the bullies to shame and helping her with her homework while still just being better than the rest of Nipton. Most recently when she'd indulged herself in this fantasy he was simply there, the two of them supporting each other in their grief after Eliza's death, finally moving out of that little white house-- on _their_ terms, not because the mayor evicted them for not being able to pay _rent_ \-- and closer to the bright, shining promise of New Vegas.

Her vision of him has changed but when he opens the door she still knows exactly who he is. Hi, she can hear herself saying, do you remember a girl named Eliza McAllister? Well, I'm her daughter, Jules, and from what she told me (admittedly not much) and what I've been able to unearth (because of course she'd do her research), I think you're my father.

And he drops whatever he's doing to pull her into a tight embrace, telling her how _happy_ he is to see her; he always wondered what happened to her and her mother (though it isn't said why Eliza left without him, either; perhaps she was sent away or perhaps his family kept him from joining her, perhaps there was some blood feud that kept them apart so they were only together in secret, like that one play she had to read one time, what was the name of it?) but he never found out, could never find out, but Jules is alive and _here_ and that's all that matters. She's here and she's safe and she's with _family_ \-- maybe he's got a wife, a husband, maybe he has kids, maybe he's single, but she's still with family again. She's _home._

“No,” Jules says, another round of nausea bringing her back to reality. “Just me.”

“Oh.” Emily bites her lip. “Well. I'll talk to the Nashes. We can work something out.”

At the Followers’ own insistence they stay in Primm with Jules for another week-- they bring her food, water, more Fixer. The clothes Emily buys replace her old wardrobe, which is burned on a campfire at her request, save for the tights. She always liked those. The Nashes agree to hire her on with the Mojave Express, give her a route that stays away from the California border and keeps her to the north, towards Vegas.

Emily and Arcade finally head up to Freeside but not before Jules gives them both quick but grateful hugs.

“Thank you,” she whispers, blinking back tears. “I don't know how I can repay you.”

Arcade rubs her shoulders. “It's what we do. If you ever find yourself up in Freeside swing by the Old Mormon Fort, say hello, let us know how you're doing.”

She nods, letting go of him to wipe her eyes. “You gave me a second chance. I'm not wasting this, I swear.”

When Jules is 23 she's shot in the head.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jules?”

That voice. She knows that voice, or at least she thinks she does; she could swear she's heard it before-- but the recognition is fleeting and when she turns towards the source he's a stranger to her. Tall and blonde, with glasses and a lab coat and a wide smile.

“It _is_ you! How've you been? Keeping yourself out of trouble, I hope.” He glances down and spots the logo on her messenger bag. “Still with the Mojave Express, eh? Didn't really peg you as the mailman type, but a job’s a job, right? You'll have to say hello to Emily later, if we can find her; she'll be glad to see you too.”

She steps back, away from him. “Do I--”

Wait.

He's a Follower.

He's a _doctor_.

Whoever he is, however he knows her...he's just what she needs.

Jules brushes her hair over her bullet scar with one hand and sticks the other in her jacket pocket, running her thumb over the silver bull on her Mark of Caesar. “...Do I have some stories for you! But-- but thanks again for all your help, you really came through for me.” She smiles, looking him square in the eye before letting the joy fall off her face.

The man frowns. “What's wrong?”

She sighs. “I hate to ask this, especially after you've already done...so, _so_ much for me, but...”

“No, don't worry about it, Jules, what's wrong?”

“I...” Her gaze drifts down to her shoes as she draws circles in the dust with her boot toe. “I need your help again. It's...dire. There's a friend of mine, near the Dam, he's been sick and I'm afraid if I don't get help soon...”

The wait before he answers feels eternal. He's seen right through her, she knows it, she knows he knows what she's planning, what-- _who_ she needs his help for, he knows she's lying, he knows he knows _he knows--_

“Of course I'll help. I've got plenty of time.” He smiles at her and starts for the gate. “Shall we?”

“Thank you.” Jules swallows the lump in her throat and breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here.”


End file.
